The Fake Hero Kills the Real One And Takes His Place
by Sabrina Dawkins
You wanted to be the hero, Jack,
but you’re a Natural Born Killer.
You wanted to be the hero, Jack,
but you’re the son of Supernatural Lucifer.
You wanted to be the hero, Jack,
but, Lost, you were Jacob’s fool,
who “died for nothing.”
So you’ll get to be the hero
over and over again,
lifetime after lifetime
of fictitious heroic characters
that you will wear
for admiration
from goats
until you’re sick of playing the hero.
And then you’ll reincarnate again, hero,
to mock you for pretending
to be what you are not.
You’ll be a Joe Black hero,
an empty vessel
filled with death and devils.
But you’ll play the hero
again.
And your blue-vein genes
will be admired again
by your fans
because your father, Satan,
advertises only his brand
that he made
souly to drive,
empty inside
and always unlatched.
You killed the real heroes, Jack.
But Moses/Michael said
the gamble didn’t pay off.
And Bob Marley sang,
“Time alone will tell
you’re living in hell.”
And you sing, Jack,
“My mother was a tailor,
sowed my new blue genes.
My father was a gambling man
down in New Orleans.”
So you’re headed back
to New Orleans, Jack,
the passenger at night in a car,
to play another counterfeit hero.
You can’t die:
You have Cain’s mark.